Bedtime Stories
by SilverMooonshine
Summary: A collection of one-shots written in the style of children's books, captuing the childhoods of all our favourite characters.


**Summary: All Oliver Wood wants is a friend, until one day a pair of big, yellow eyes show up.**

 **Written for the QLFC Finals Round 1: Pairing Diversity  
Position: **Chaser 2, Holyhead Harpies  
 **Prompts:  
** Oliver Wood/OC  
1 (word) planets  
5 (word) solution  
14 (word) marbles  
 **Word Count:** 1,277

 **This might seem childish, but I promise that was the intention XD enjoy!**

* * *

Once upon a time, far away in the Scottish highlands, there lived a little boy by the name of Oliver Wood. He lived with his parents, and the three of them rattled around in their big house on the edge of the moor. Every day they went for walks, or played games indoors if the weather was wet. But although Oliver loved his parents very much, there were times when he felt very alone, and by the time he was nine he longed for a friend.

The truth was, the Wood family hid a great secret. They were magical.

Oliver knew that he couldn't play with other children in case they discovered his abilities. He knew that they lived alone, far away from any other families, so that his parents could practice their magic without being caught. But knowing the reasons for their isolation did not make him feel better, and every night before he went to sleep, Oliver would gaze up at the stars and wish for a friend.

His parents filled his days with stories of a huge school full of children just like him. They promised that once he turned eleven he could go there, too, and learn all about his magic. Oliver wasn't so bothered about the magic—as far as he could see, his mum just used it to clean—but he counted down the days until he could join the school. Until he could finally have a friend.

One day, 528 days from his eleventh birthday, Oliver Wood sat in his room by himself. He had been there for over an hour, throwing the ball in his hand against the wall. Over the past month, he'd mastered catching with his left hand, even a few times with his eyes closed. He never missed now, and there didn't seem anything left to learn.

 _Thud._ Catch. _Thud._ Catch. _Thud. Thud. Thud._

Suddenly the ' _thud, thud, thud_ _'_ was replaced by a ' _knock, knock, knock_ _'_ on the door.

"Ollie, can we come in?" his mother called as she pushed open the door.

Oliver turned around, but his gaze never made it to his mother. He was transfixed by what was in her hand: a golden cage that glinted in the sunlight. But it was what was inside the cage that had caught his attention. The huge eyes—too big for her still-tiny body—of a tawny owl stared back at him.

He walked over to the cage in a daze. "Is she for me?" he asked.

"Of course." His mother laughed. "But you'll have to look after her carefully, and think of a name."

He carefully lifted the cage from her hands as if holding the most delicate treasure in the world.

"I'll call her Bailey," he said softly, his eyes not leaving the big yellow ones that still stared at him.

At the sound of her new name, Bailey let out a screech, ruffling her feathers proudly. His mother smiled down at them. "I hope you two will become the best of friends."

From that day forward, Oliver and Bailey were never apart if he could help it. Every morning, he woke up to her sitting on his pillow, pulling gently at his hair with her tiny beak. He'd wolf down his breakfast, and then race upstairs to spend time with her before she went to sleep for the day.

The days were still long, but Oliver no longer felt lonely. Sometimes he would sit and draw her, filling up his room with crumpled paper filled with wonky lines that could never quite capture the sleekness of her feathers, or the glint in her eyes. When he saved up for a set of marbles he'd seen in the village, he'd practice throwing them as high as he could for her to catch when they played outside in the evenings.

The evenings were Oliver's favourite time of all. After being dragged downstairs for dinner, he would race back to Bailey as soon as he could, collecting her from her cage and taking her outside. Here they would play until the sun went down—the little boy running with his best friend soaring above him.

However, as the sun set, they had to go their separate ways. He would be called to bed, and watch from his bedroom window as Bailey flew off across the moorlands and the mountains without him. And although Oliver knew she would always come back, he wished more than anything that he could fly with her.

In his dreams, they flew off together for great adventures. They soared for miles, watching the land blur beneath them. Sometimes he would see the magical school that his parents talked of, but he no longer wanted to fly down to join the students there. Instead he climbed higher with Bailey, until they flew amongst the stars and planets.

But eventually, the sun would rise and Oliver had to return to his world on the ground.

One day, as Oliver watched Bailey fly off into the moonlight, a solution hit him. Over dinner his father had suggested taking him to his first Quidditch match. The Holyhead Harpies, his father's favourite team, were playing close by next week.

"Dad," Oliver began tentatively over the breakfast table the next morning. "You know how you want me to start liking Quidditch? I…well…I was wondering: what if I got my own broom?"

"Oliver Wood!" his mother screeched from beside the cooker. "I'm not letting a young boy like you get on one of those death traps!"

"Oh, calm down, Deb," said his father. "We woud get him a child's one to learn with. And it would be good for the boy to get out more. Plus, we can finally see if he's inherited my Quidditch skills." He grinned, winking at his son.

"And it is my birthday next week," Oliver pleaded.

His mother sighed. "Fine."

Oliver let out a whoop of joy, and raced upstairs to tell Bailey the good news.

The next week, Oliver came downstairs to find a long, thin package on the table. He carefully removed the paper, desperately trying not to damage the present below. When all the paper was gone, he let out the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. He squeezed his parents into a big hug, and dragged his father by the hand outside for his first flying lesson.

All day Oliver practiced, until he could balance well on the broom in the air. His father said he was a natural. He was careful not to go to high or too fast just yet—he was saving that for later.

The minutes and hours crept by, until finally Bailey opened her eyes for the night. Oliver sprinted downstairs, taking them two at a time in his haste. He grabbed his broom as he ran through the door and out into the evening.

They began like normal: Oliver ran while Bailey flew. But before long, he shakily lifted his leg over the broom, kicking off gently like his father had taught him. Higher and higher he rose, until he was level with the owl. They stared at each other, eyes locking like they had the first time they had met.

Slowly, he started to move, and was astonished to find that she followed him.

As the months passed, and Oliver's father gave him more flying lessons, Oliver quickly improved. Before long, he and Bailey were chasing each other in circles, diving and rising and looping and zigzagging through the sky. Oliver knew without doubt that this was where he belonged: here in the sky with his first and best friend.

The End.


End file.
